The tides come in, white-top waves

Pounding the shore

Carrying all forms of debris

Some vegetation, some manmade

Gulls sweep down,

Gobbling anything attractive,

While leaving behind empty shells,

Gutted.

Emotional tides afflict me,

At times rendering me incapable of being rational

Should I forgive her for the mean things she said,

Or carry on, carrying on.

Is it time to ask for help or struggle, alone,

With my thoughts rambling about inside my head?

Hunger is a tide of its own.

Do I eat the last piece of candy

Or leave it for someone else?

Fix myself a two-slice sandwich even though my stomach

Has no room?

I am pulled and pushed, in and out of the kitchen.

Helpless

Yearning is another tide that intrigues me.

I want to write, to publish.

Writing I can do, when motivated,

But publishing? That depends upon the whims of others.

I sit waiting, trying to push myself to record

Words, thoughts, feelings.

Tides go out, dragging along anything and anyone

Caught in their fingers.

Like a drain, all things, good and bad,

Swirl, disappear, fall apart into tiny pieces

Thanks to the power of

Tides.